Page 15 of Broken By the Battleship

I snarl, open the icebox, and move the full tray to the table before slamming the door closed. Deciding she needs protein the most, I tear off a strip of chicken and peel her hand away from her face just enough to cram the morsel into her mouth. When she tries to spit it out, I plaster my palm over her lips and curl my other arm around the back of her head.

“Chew and swallow, or I’ll toss your brothers overboard,” I snarl.

She hiccups and glares at me before exaggerating the movement of her jaw. Fresh tears slip from her lashes, but she drops her hands into her lap without trying to wipe them away.

With her reluctant obedience and silent disapproval, she fillets my soul into slices so thin they’re transparent. She doesn’t need a knife to destroy me.

Instead of victory, she serves me misery. I yearn for things I cannot name.

When she swallows, I pry her mouth open and check she actually ate it before reaching for another bite.

“Every living thing requires food. My brothers shouldn’t have to earn theirs. No child should.”

Her voice breaks on the last word, revealing more than she intends. Long buried memories resurface.

My parents gave me their best. They carved out their own place in this brutal world and did their utmost to ensure I grew to my full potential.

My kitten’s father stole that pampered life from me.

But he did worse to her. She never had the security of protective parents. Her mother may have tried, but her father tormented them both. The pain shining from her eyes tells of long, hungry nights and constant fear.

When he murdered her mother, she had no choice but to become the buffer between her brothers and the egotistical, hateful male.

The fear, disgust, and desperation lurking in her glare twists my guts.

Not because I can’t handle her hatred, but because I know she compares me to her father. I replaced him. This is my fault.

I break another piece of chicken free and ferry it to her lips. She doesn’t open.

“For every bite you take, I will serve each of your brothers two.” Her brows scrunch in disbelief. “You will earn their food for them, kitten. If you don’t eat, neither do they.”

After a moment of studying my face, she opens her mouth and accepts the morsel.

“The same type of food, too. No gruel, unless they’re sick or that’s what I’m eating,” she says as she chews.

Pride slithers into my chest. I shove another bite into her mouth, even though she still chews the first.

“Our flock will never expand. Let’s hope the birds like fucking as much as I do,” I mumble as I tear off another chunk of meat.

The heat of her abused ass seeps into my trapped cock. Without conscious thought, I draw my fingertips over her hip and wipe her tears away with my thumb after feeding her the next bite. Her brows rise and she eyes my hand as one would a predator.

Which only heightens my need and increases my anticipation.

I lean over and fill a battered tin cup with water from the faucet. The cutest expression flits across her face as she watches me bring the cup to her lips. When she leans forward to check the liquid, I sneak my other hand around her hip and into her lap to tease the mound of flesh above her clit.

“It’s purified water. All except the bottom two levels of the ship have working plumbing.”

If my tone comes across as gloating, it’s because I am. I spilt over a decade’s worth of blood, sweat, and other unmentionable bodily fluids—both mine and others’—to create order in an otherwise chaotic world.

The stunned look on her face as she struggles to process my words strokes my ego. I shove a piece of fruit in her mouth before I fall too far into her shimmery blue orbs.

Her small sound of pleasure sends a fresh wave of desire down my shaft. I rub my tip through the escaped wetness, coating her hip with my precum, and sink into instincts.

She remains stiff in my lap for several minutes, but as I feed her from my hand, she loses her rigidness. Her reluctance makes her submission all the sweeter. I savor her slow descent into relaxation as I fill her with the nutrients she’ll need to survive the trials to come.

After four full cups of water and clearing half the tray, she hesitates before accepting another bite.

I push the tray away and rise with her in my arms, knowing she’ll push herself too far and make herself sick, just to ensure her brothers have an abundance of calories. She hisses and reaches toward the table, but I stride across the room and kick open the door to the sleeping quarters.

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